Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [258]
"Jason Gillcuddy," the man said. "I saw your TV programs. Glad to meet you."
"Gillcuddy. I've heard that name. Where?"
Jason smiled. "From my books, maybe? More likely you heard it here. Harry and I are both married to Donna, used to be Donna Adams. Her mother raised pluperfect hell about that."
"Oh." Tim followed Gillcuddy's look to Harry and a slim girl, blonde, not more than nineteen, standing near Eileen. He pitched his backpack into the truck. The rifle was slung over his shoulder. "How long?" he asked.
"They're waiting for something," Jason said. "I don't know what. No point in standing here. See you." Jason went over to Harry and the girl. She embraced Gillcuddy while Harry stood watching.
Wonder what Hardy thinks of that? Tim thought. He likes everything neat. And what does it make Jason and Harry? Brothers-in-law? Husbands-in-law? The arrangement made sense, with Harry out on his rounds for weeks at a time. Someone had to work the Chicken Ranch while Harry was out. Tim found Eileen with Maureen Jellison. "My comet sure plays games with cultural patterns," he said. He inclined his head toward Harry and Jason and Donna.
Eileen took his hand and held tightly.
"Hi, Maureen," Tim said. "Where's General Baker?"
"He'll be out in a moment."
Eileen and Maureen and Donna, they all had the same look. Tim had an impulse to laugh, but he didn't. They looked exactly like the women in the old John Wayne movies, when the cavalry troop was about to ride out through the gates. Had they seen the movies, or had John Ford captured a truth?
A light truck drove up, and two ranch-hands jumped down. Chief Hartman got out of the cab. "Easy with that," Hartman said. He looked around, then came over to Tim and Maureen. "Where's the General?" he asked.
"Inside."
"Okay. Best more than one knows anyway. Mr. Hamner, come look. We brought your radio gear." He pointed to the boxes that the ranchers were loading in with the expedition baggage. "The set runs off a car battery. That other box contains a beam antenna. You get that to the highest place you can find, and point it at us. From the power plant that's twenty degrees magnetic. Maybe, just maybe, we'll be able to hear you. We'll listen from five minutes to until five minutes after each hour. Channel thirteen. And assume the New Brotherhood's listening in. You got all that?"
"Yes." Tim repeated the instructions.
Johnny Baker came out of the house. He carried a rifle and wore a pistol on his belt. Maureen went to him and held him possessively.
There certainly were a lot of grim faces showing tonight. Tim decided that looking nonchalant was a waste of effort. Mark Czescu looked indecently cheerful; but that fit. Tim had heard him asking Harry the Mailman, in all innocence, "What are we calling this, the War of Harry's Truck?" Mark didn't know why they were fighting, and didn't care.
Hugo Beck was grimmer than the rest. If the Angels got their hands on the apostate, he'd have reason … but maybe he had reason now. Nobody was going near him. Poor bastard.
"What the hell are we waiting on?" Jack Ross demanded. He was built like a Christopher, a massive, choleric man. There were three fingers missing from his left hand and a scar that ran clear to his elbow, the result of an argument with a harvesting machine. His fine blond mustache was nearly invisible, a mere token.
"The scouts," Baker said. "It shouldn't be long."
"Yeah, sure."
Rick Delanty seemed in a foul mood. He went to Baker, ignoring the others standing by. "Johnny, I want to go with you."
"No."
"Dammit—"
"I've explained before," Baker said. He took Delanty off to one side. Tim could barely hear their voices. He strained to catch it, eavesdropping or no. "We can't risk all of the last astronauts," Baker said. "We can't leave one Russian here alone, and Russians wouldn't be any use anyway. This is a diplomatic mission. They might not be welcome."
"Fine. Leave them here and take me."